


Annie

by huynhd771



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Character Death, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Metaphors, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huynhd771/pseuds/huynhd771
Summary: Acceptance, hiding behind denial, is imminent. You can't run away.





	

Cold, cold, freezing, bitter. Legs feel like dropping, collapsing, leaving her for dead. Got no feeling, no sensation. Too numb, too dull. Everything is shaking, shaking so much. Exhaustion, fear, and the cold, taking and ripping her apart. Shaky breath returns the stale air with the same coldness.

But she feels hot. Sweating, in fact. Sweating profusely, panting, feels like she’s in a lava pit. She can’t decipher how she feels, or what she’s feeling. Coldness, exhaustion, fear, but something else. Colours are whirling, the whole world spinning as she stumbles through the sand dunes. Wanting to roll over and die.

But she can’t. No, she can’t. She is obligated not to die. Survive, survive, maybe she’ll make it. She’ll bring a dozen smiles, because she won’t let them down.

Repeating that to herself, in her mind, over and over, with each step a step towards her destination. Fuels her. Torments her. Binding her to the ones she loves most.

Barely able to see a few paces ahead of her. Orange lantern can’t penetrate the black mass of darkness in front of her. Barely enough to see her own trembling hand holding the lantern. Looks up. Black. Stars aren’t out tonight. Moon’s obscured. Black skies reign the night.

 

Annie are you okay?

 

The crunch of sand turns to the hollow echo of pavement. Lifeless village, a dry oasis. Gaze darting around, only to see the residents haven’t bothered to install streetlights. Stingy bastards, not wanting to waste their electricity. They said they’d be in a shelter somewhere here. They weren’t clear, no. Up to her to find out.

Steps forward, then an unknown force pushes her back, knocking her to the ground. Back lurches forward with a sharp pain, rest of the body grazing and bruising. Almost hissing. But that wasn’t the source of pain. No, it wasn’t.

Feel especially deep cuts into her flesh, right arm. Left hand fingers travel and tend to the wounds, to find the clink of glass mauling, stabbing. Her forearm, wet with fresh blood, the smell sickening. She chokes, metallic odour wafting into her nostrils. Then she realises.

There is no light anymore. With the loss of light, a deafening silence befalls her, pain unspeakable. Feels alive and dead, straddling the border, fading in and out.

But she still sees. Still hears. All of the five senses, yet she can’t feel. Anything.

Cursing under her breath, she tosses the shattered lantern behind her. Push herself off the floor but she struggles just to stand up straight. Even more dizzy than before, feeling the need to vomit. She’s not okay.

But she mustn’t let them down.

Stumbling, still pushing through the harsh winds, knocking on random doors, only to be greeted with ‘get out’ or no answer. Most of the answers were the latter.

Dim-witted meandering through the barren streets, searching, searching for them. Because she mustn’t let them down. Then, another rush of wind.

The rush of wind different from the others. Just as powerful, just as overwhelming. The chill is still there, though the knife of the cold stabs deeper. And deeper. Reaching her heart, crushing it. Far more menacing. Doesn’t know whether or not to trust her instincts. ‘Imagination, imagination, all but a myth!’ she repeats to herself, like a little mantra. That, and ‘Don’t let them down.’

Two things she needs to know. Only two. But the first thought she isn’t quite sure of.

“Amy? Miss Rose? Is that you?”

She turns her gaze to the voice. Elderly-like, creaking with weakness.

“Amy?”

She recognises the voice. _Her._

“Yes? Missus Vanilla?”

“It’s you! Come, come, take shelter.”

Then, the aging rabbit pushes a wooden door open, and the streets are illuminated with a dim, cream light. Amy obliges, walking to the designated dwelling.

Sigh of relief. She’s made it. She hasn’t let them down.

 

Annie are you okay?

 

‘What’s happened there dearie?”

“Oh, oh, nothing. Just some cuts, that’s all…” Since walking in, she’d been greeted with countless of hugs and cheek kisses, attacked with the same constant affection from the same dozen or so people.

“Looks sore hun. Let me treat it for you,” another woman says. A pale green alligator, scales regressed, eyes weary. Holding a bottle of antiseptic and box of dodgy stitches.

“Wh-Who are you?”

“You know Vector?”

A nod.

“I’m his wife. Victoria.”

Eyes go wide at this revelation. Vector’s wife? Been a while since Amy’s seen that ol’ crocodile. Never forget his clumsy charm. Finding love? Well, it’s a pleasant surprise.

“Hold still hun.”

Amy obliges, raising her right forearm, bracing for the pain. Eyes scrunch closed, expecting a stinging jolt run through her arm. Nearly squealing at her dabbing on the solution.

“Feelin’ pain, aren’t ya?”

“N-no?”

“Ha! I know you’re lying hun. Try not to scream.”

A needle. Looks dull and worn. Wipes it off, some of the rust, tries to make as non-lethal as possible. Position the needle and stitch at the wounds. Quivering eyes notice the rusted tip. Lip bitten, refraining from moving, escaping. Then cringes as the tip of the needle disappears under her skin.

Victoria muffles Amy’s mouth, as she operates. Deftly weaving the thread in and out, steadily, confidently. Hand stays strong as it penetrates the skin, not cutting too deep into the flesh. Doesn’t even draw blood.

Though it still hurts. A lot.

‘Finished hun. Ya can look now.”

Eyes roll like bowling balls on a mission. Doesn’t bother to look. Though the pain has lessened, almost non-existent. Seems her treatment has worked.

“Hey you.” The voice is very uncharming. Rude in fact. Not welcoming at all.

Turns. Sees a ram. Big and bulky with a quite disgruntled scowl carved onto her face.

“You haven’t paid for your accommodation fees. Cough up.”

“What? Why would I need to pay fees for?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, missy. An Inn! At the front of this building! Should have known that before entering. Now cough up or get out.”

_Inn?_

“I’m sorry madam, I was unalerted before entering. If I held the knowledge before entering, I would have carried with me a few shillings and pence. Now, do have my most earnest apologies but I’m afraid I can’t help you! Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Get out. Now.”

“Well, I never-”

“Enough!”

A white bat. Curvaceous, heavy make-up on. A provocative appearance, voice highly feminine and alluring. Hands on hips, continues:

“If I recall right, we had paid in bulk for the accommodation fees of all members of our group, including Miss Rose, who’s timing was a far cry from punctual. In defence of Amy Rose, she has already been paid for. Rudeness and verbal abuse are not tolerated to our group. So please, if you may, do not disturb her again!”

“Who’s running the inn here?”

“Irrelevant, Missus Ari! Acknowledge your mistakes and please apologise to Miss Rose.”

A few good minutes of staring each other off. Then the ram breaks the silence.

“Tsk.” The ram storms off, fuming.

“My earnest apologies Miss Rose.  Missus Ari is a… very obstinate one. Often not reasonable in her bouts of rage. Though she means no harm.”

“Thank you Rouge.”

A nod. She isn’t entirely convinced.

“Amy!”

A masculine voice but it is gentle. Heart-warming. Youthful. _His. His voice she’d been longing to hear._

_Sonic._

A blue hedgehog comes running, stopping.

“It’s been too long Amy. How’re you doing?”

“Doing just fine, thank you.” Smiling up at him, taking his hand. Stands up, leans in to give him a peck on the cheek, just to show her gladness, relief. Happiness. He returns this gesture, kissing back, locking hands, then on the lips, enjoying this moment of intimacy while they can. Amy’s cheeks flush, drinking the warmth greedily. Rejuvenating.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the white bat winks at both of them. Seems to be jealous at the time they’re having, but is happy for them nonetheless.

“I best think it’s time for my rest,” Amy whispers into his ears, breaking the liplock.

“Why? It’s only 6:40? Much too early m’dear.”

“Well, for someone who doesn’t possess the speed you do, crossing the chill of desert valleys does seem to tire. I’m very exhausted myself.”

“Oh, of course m’dear. I’ll let you have your beauty sleep. Though not before this.” Wraps his long arms around her, a final warm embrace before the end of Amy’s day.

“Take care m’dear. Our room number is 42.”

 

Annie are you okay?

 

Walks up to the bathroom. A few touch-ups, to heal from the hell of the valleys, before heading to bed.

Tilting her head, savouring the hot satisfaction of trickling water on her face. Steam rising, eyes closed, breathing in the rising steam.

Then, the shower curtains flip upward, gust of wind, chilling, the menacing one from before. Instinct is to shield herself, preserve the sight of her most precious quarters.

“Get out!” a scream, a squeal, one mostly of embarrassment, but somewhat of dread. Fading out with a quivering fear.

She isn’t answered. Only the wind abates at her vehement behest and fades into the air. However, Amy, eyes wind, heart beating, loses the need to shower.

_I don’t need to shower. Who does that? Shower._

Switches off the hot water. Gets out to dry herself and sees a tear through the drab shower curtains. Rough tear, gaping wide and jagged. At her feet. Oh, at her feet, she’s terrified to the core.

Bloody sickle.

She only stares. Image of the knife burning into her eyes, scarring, heart stopping. Going pale, seems all the blood has escaped. Feeling weak. Dizzy. Dizzy like before. Can’t… can’t… handle. She can’t… handle. Whose blood, did it belong to, stained on the silver blade. Who… who?

Eyes dart around, looking for someone, something. Maybe if she’s with someone, she’ll be protected. What if the person… dropped the knife. Looking… to kill. No torment. Yes, that was it. Only to torment. They could’ve killed her right then and there. Maybe it was a horrible prank. Maybe no one meant any harm? No harm. She thinks of it as a horrible, cruel joke. One she can shrug off.

Nothing serious, right?

Yet she can’t stop trembling. She can’t, she can’t. Scent of blood wafting into her nostrils, choking her, smelling of fresh death. Can’t fathom… can’t fathom… can’t… escape… Lifting the knife but it is too heavy. Or perhaps she’s too weak. The knife drops, echoing thud, resonating through the bathroom. Cold, hard, weak.

_I’m too weak._

Thinks about calling for help but figures they won’t believe. She can handle this by herself, right? Right? Keeps repeating that to herself.

_Imagination, imagination, all but a myth!_

_I can handle it. No one else. I can handle it._

Doesn’t bother drying herself, slapping on some clothes, leaving the weapon there. _A weapon wielded by no one can’t cause any harm._ Still dripping, still soaked but has no qualms about it. It was the least of her concerns. But what was there to be concerned about?

_Imagination, imagination, all but a myth!_

_I can handle it. No one else. I can handle it._

Black hallways. Only black. Floor up, the inn hasn’t bothered to turn on the lights. Too early for the upper lights to be switched on. 2037. It is 2037. Muffled sounds of drunken partying and karaoke can be heard from below. Figures they’re late-nighters.

  1. She’s searching for 42. But can’t see.



A shriek. A scream. Seems one of death and aguish. Fear of the demons. Sound penetrating the black of the darkened hallways, that of an ear-piercing crescendo. And she sees.

Clear as day, as empty as night. A void. The colour of a void, visible through the black. Approaching… Approaching… Approaching…

“Annie. Annie. Annie,” raspy voice utters with each footstep.

_Annie?_

“Annie…”

A flame, illuminating the void in a violet hue. Scarlet bloodshot eyes, filled with empty shades of green, staring back at her. No nose. No face. Only eyes and the pseudo-form of a hedgehog. Though she can register the grin. The trembling grin.

“Annie…”

Tries to speak. She tries oh so hard to speak but can’t. Voice stolen, silenced by the sight of him. Only mouthing nothings. Troubled mouthing turns to desperate silent screams, all muted. Wanting to scream for help. Scream this was a dream. This was a dream. It couldn’t be real. Such things don’t exist!

_Imagination, imagination, only but a myth!_

Yet, she’s struggling to breathe. Suffocating. Choking. Turning purple, purple, and just as she thinks her lungs have collapsed, she exclaims.

A short, harsh yell. A gasp. With that gasp, flash of white and all falls silent.

And she collapses to the ground, stabbing in her chest. Turning ghostly white, air decreasing. Veins tighten, wanting to burst. Feeling wet in her chest. Drowning in the odour of her own blood.

The void stands over her, flame extinguished.

“Annie…”

Legs pushing herself up, backing away from the void. And she runs. Runs madly. All she can do is run. She can run forever! But the inn limits her escape.

_Room 42, room 42._

The violet flame reignites again, blazing away brighter than before. Dazzling. Harshly. Blindingly.

_Room 42!_

Found it. Found her room. Found her place. Haven. Escape.

Opens the door, then swiftly shuts it, locks it. Collapses onto the bed. Relief she should be feeling. But no. She’s dying. Or maybe she’s not. Pain can make a person misjudge. She’ll be okay, right? All she has to do is wait it out. Then all will be fine when Sonic arrives.

Then, the door begins blazing away in purple ashes.

“Annie…”

 

 

 


End file.
